» Sat Jun 23, 2012 3:01 am We are sadly not looking for new characters to join this, as this will be a small-scale adventure RP. Sorry!
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Old threads,
Interest Check: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1383980-anyone-feel-for-a-small-adventure-rp/
Sign-Up: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1384023-the-small-adventure-rp-ooc-and-sign-up-thread/
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All the regular RP-rules apply. This should be a given even if it's not mentioned separately. What this involves should be known to all of you, no ubering, no character controlling. You know the drill.
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As you will see when reading the original thread, the idea is a small adventure role-play without a known story. It will focus on low resources and inexperienced characters that will grow during the adventure. Less equipment is better, less skill in the beginning is better. You will gain weapons and armor during the RP and your equipment will break if you RP this fully. Finding things, wokring for things, stealing things are all part of this RP. Instead of going through this RP with the same full set of armor and the weapon you begin with, you'll replace it as you go. Starting out with as little as possible would be great. How our character meet eachother will be up to us, I will not force a beginning on you. Perhaps two of our characters know eachother from before the time of the RP? Perhaps we meet the others at an inn? Maybe we have seen eachother at some time before, but never actually talked or knew the other? All possibilites are open.
As the original thread says, I want to be surprised when role-playing in this. With the no-one is GM and everyone is GM I want to create a surprising athmosphere for everyone. We drive the story forward as we go. A random idea during the adventure could develop into something bigger. We'll see how things play out!
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Meet the Characters:
(an underlined name is the username of the RPer. The name and race are in italic.)
GorbadPS3
Robentie "Rob" Genis-(Breton)
Spoiler
Name: Robentie Genis (called Rob)
Age: 25
Race:Breton
Gender: Male
Height: 5” 10’
Birthsign: The Serpent.
“The Serpent wanders about in the sky and has no Season, though its motions are predictable to a degree. No characteristics are common to all who are born under the sign of the Serpent. Those born under this sign are the most blessed and the most cursed.”
For Rob, the Serpent has bestowed upon him a unique resistance to poisons and illness, more potent than any Black Marsh resident's. His curse is, however, a significant drain of his magical talent. He has more than lost the innate magical prowess of Bretons in this field, to the point where he might as well wear a ring of silence without any loss.
Appearance:
Rob is a regular, young Breton male. He is slim and agile and of average height for his race. His eyes are dark and deep green, almost as if they are glowing from within.
He has his black hair cut short. His hair is much longer by his ears, and has it in two braids (plaits) that are one and a half feet long each. He has the two braids behind his head, tied together just where his short hair ends, forming a united, twice as wide braid the rest of the way. A third braid connects to this double-braid, starting from the back of his head slightly above his ears. A number of knots of various colors keep the triple-braid together. (a rough picture of how the hair looks like: http://i877.photobucket.com/albums/ab337/GorbadPS3/Hairstyle.jpg)
Like his father, he never managed to grow a mustache or beard, no matter how hard he tried.
Class: Acrobat
Skills: Due to the life he has lived, he’s mostly talented in running fast and climbing fast. He thinks he has a silver tongue, but in reality it’s more bronze than silver. Like everyone without magical talent, Rob has learned to fight with more traditional means. If he would’ve listened more carefully and practiced more on his own, he could be called a decent swordsman. However, he did neither and only knows the basic of dueling. He knows something about plants, what can be eaten and what is poisonous.
Clothing: He’s wearing a pair of leather boots and gauntlets. Both help him when running and climbing on sharp and hard surfaces. Dull grey, slim pants that do not stop his movement and a matching, slightly darker tunic complete his current outfit. The black patterns on the pants and tunic match with the color of his hair.
Weapon(s): At his belt he has an iron dagger that has seen a lot of use in his climbing. After so much hacking and slashing at rocks, vines, roots and ground, the dagger is no longer sharp. It has also lost its metal color, replaced by dull and worn iron.
Miscellaneous items: He has a small shoulder bag with him, small enough to not be in the way when he is climbing. He has it attached to his belt to make extra sure it doesn’t get in the way. In it, he has a small bag of septims of an unknown amount. A half-eaten apple and an almost empty bottle of water are also in the bag.
Personality: He likes to talk to people, a lot. It has gotten him into trouble more than once though, so he’s trying to tone it down a bit. He may not have a talent for magic, but there’s nothing wrong with his understanding and intelligence.
Major flaw: Thinks he is a better smooth talker than he actually is.
Background: Rob was born in the large city of Daggerfall, a true urban environment that has a long history. His parents are both Bretons. His father, a blacksmith and blades trainers, and his mother, a gifted healer and alchemist wanted their only son to be magically gifted and manage well in this life. Those plans were crushed when it turned out that Rob had no magical talent, at all. Instead, he was taught the basics of alchemy and sword fighting. He helped at his father’s smithy and his mother’s alchemy shop. During the years to come, he explored the huge city of Daggerfall and learned to appreciate its vertical diversity. By the age of 14, he could climb up a brick wall with ease.
As any child, Rob had to and wanted to part way with his parents. And so he did, by the age of 16. During the next hazardous years to come, he still lived in the city of Daggerfall but at the other side of it than his parents, more towards the nearby forest. The neighborhood turned out to appreciate his acrobatic talents and he joined the Thieves guild for easy jobs. He pvssyd with women in inns and enjoyed the life in the city of wealth. He won bets at inns by drinking poisons straight from the bottle, making a lot of money… and enemies.
Rob ran out of luck at the age of 19. The guards had caught on to him after a particularly high-profile break-in. During the events that followed, he had to leave Daggerfall in haste. The last thing he wanted was to rot in a prison cell for stealing a flask of potent poison, apparently worth over three thousand septims. Stupid bet at the inn… He’d drunk the three thousand septims bottle in front of a huge crowd of people, only to win a 400 septim bet. There was no other option than to escape the city. Luckily, Rob had made an equal amount of friends as enemies and the thieves guild was more than happy to provide the disappearing service, for a small fee…
Rob lived in the imperial city for the next six years to come. His luck was running out of luck here once more. The Thieves guild was but a shadow of its former self here, more corrupt than the imperial diplomats and nobles stabbing each other’s backs as much as they could. The guards of the imperial city were even more corrupt than the Thieves guild. For reasons Rob didn’t understand, he was beaten up while on his way back to the Thieves quarters and stolen from the small amount of money he’d saved. Perhaps it was because of a bet he had made and won? Perhaps these were common thugs? However, when he arrived to the guild doors he was denied access. The once former friend of Rob grinned and called the guards on him for murder of some lady he hadn’t even heard of. As if they had been waiting around the corner, three guards showed up immediately. Rob ran faster than he’d ever done before.
He spent a whole day and a whole night hidden before he crept out in the light of the half-moon and snuck to a safety chest he’d planted on the roof of the church. Inside he found a pair of leather boots, gauntlets, grey pants and a matching tunic. The iron dagger inside had seen a lot of use in climbing, but it was better than nothing. A bag full of bread, apples and a full bottle of water was in the chest as well. He took off that night, heading for Skingrad…
Name: Robentie Genis (called Rob)
Age: 25
Race:Breton
Gender: Male
Height: 5” 10’
Birthsign: The Serpent.
“The Serpent wanders about in the sky and has no Season, though its motions are predictable to a degree. No characteristics are common to all who are born under the sign of the Serpent. Those born under this sign are the most blessed and the most cursed.”
For Rob, the Serpent has bestowed upon him a unique resistance to poisons and illness, more potent than any Black Marsh resident's. His curse is, however, a significant drain of his magical talent. He has more than lost the innate magical prowess of Bretons in this field, to the point where he might as well wear a ring of silence without any loss.
Appearance:
Rob is a regular, young Breton male. He is slim and agile and of average height for his race. His eyes are dark and deep green, almost as if they are glowing from within.
He has his black hair cut short. His hair is much longer by his ears, and has it in two braids (plaits) that are one and a half feet long each. He has the two braids behind his head, tied together just where his short hair ends, forming a united, twice as wide braid the rest of the way. A third braid connects to this double-braid, starting from the back of his head slightly above his ears. A number of knots of various colors keep the triple-braid together. (a rough picture of how the hair looks like: http://i877.photobucket.com/albums/ab337/GorbadPS3/Hairstyle.jpg)
Like his father, he never managed to grow a mustache or beard, no matter how hard he tried.
Class: Acrobat
Skills: Due to the life he has lived, he’s mostly talented in running fast and climbing fast. He thinks he has a silver tongue, but in reality it’s more bronze than silver. Like everyone without magical talent, Rob has learned to fight with more traditional means. If he would’ve listened more carefully and practiced more on his own, he could be called a decent swordsman. However, he did neither and only knows the basic of dueling. He knows something about plants, what can be eaten and what is poisonous.
Clothing: He’s wearing a pair of leather boots and gauntlets. Both help him when running and climbing on sharp and hard surfaces. Dull grey, slim pants that do not stop his movement and a matching, slightly darker tunic complete his current outfit. The black patterns on the pants and tunic match with the color of his hair.
Weapon(s): At his belt he has an iron dagger that has seen a lot of use in his climbing. After so much hacking and slashing at rocks, vines, roots and ground, the dagger is no longer sharp. It has also lost its metal color, replaced by dull and worn iron.
Miscellaneous items: He has a small shoulder bag with him, small enough to not be in the way when he is climbing. He has it attached to his belt to make extra sure it doesn’t get in the way. In it, he has a small bag of septims of an unknown amount. A half-eaten apple and an almost empty bottle of water are also in the bag.
Personality: He likes to talk to people, a lot. It has gotten him into trouble more than once though, so he’s trying to tone it down a bit. He may not have a talent for magic, but there’s nothing wrong with his understanding and intelligence.
Major flaw: Thinks he is a better smooth talker than he actually is.
Background: Rob was born in the large city of Daggerfall, a true urban environment that has a long history. His parents are both Bretons. His father, a blacksmith and blades trainers, and his mother, a gifted healer and alchemist wanted their only son to be magically gifted and manage well in this life. Those plans were crushed when it turned out that Rob had no magical talent, at all. Instead, he was taught the basics of alchemy and sword fighting. He helped at his father’s smithy and his mother’s alchemy shop. During the years to come, he explored the huge city of Daggerfall and learned to appreciate its vertical diversity. By the age of 14, he could climb up a brick wall with ease.
As any child, Rob had to and wanted to part way with his parents. And so he did, by the age of 16. During the next hazardous years to come, he still lived in the city of Daggerfall but at the other side of it than his parents, more towards the nearby forest. The neighborhood turned out to appreciate his acrobatic talents and he joined the Thieves guild for easy jobs. He pvssyd with women in inns and enjoyed the life in the city of wealth. He won bets at inns by drinking poisons straight from the bottle, making a lot of money… and enemies.
Rob ran out of luck at the age of 19. The guards had caught on to him after a particularly high-profile break-in. During the events that followed, he had to leave Daggerfall in haste. The last thing he wanted was to rot in a prison cell for stealing a flask of potent poison, apparently worth over three thousand septims. Stupid bet at the inn… He’d drunk the three thousand septims bottle in front of a huge crowd of people, only to win a 400 septim bet. There was no other option than to escape the city. Luckily, Rob had made an equal amount of friends as enemies and the thieves guild was more than happy to provide the disappearing service, for a small fee…
Rob lived in the imperial city for the next six years to come. His luck was running out of luck here once more. The Thieves guild was but a shadow of its former self here, more corrupt than the imperial diplomats and nobles stabbing each other’s backs as much as they could. The guards of the imperial city were even more corrupt than the Thieves guild. For reasons Rob didn’t understand, he was beaten up while on his way back to the Thieves quarters and stolen from the small amount of money he’d saved. Perhaps it was because of a bet he had made and won? Perhaps these were common thugs? However, when he arrived to the guild doors he was denied access. The once former friend of Rob grinned and called the guards on him for murder of some lady he hadn’t even heard of. As if they had been waiting around the corner, three guards showed up immediately. Rob ran faster than he’d ever done before.
He spent a whole day and a whole night hidden before he crept out in the light of the half-moon and snuck to a safety chest he’d planted on the roof of the church. Inside he found a pair of leather boots, gauntlets, grey pants and a matching tunic. The iron dagger inside had seen a lot of use in climbing, but it was better than nothing. A bag full of bread, apples and a full bottle of water was in the chest as well. He took off that night, heading for Skingrad…
Not Provided
Varian Aurelia-(Breton)
Spoiler
Name - Varian Aurelia
Race - Breton
Gender - Male
Age - 27
Height: 6"0'
Birthsign: The Thief
Skills:
Blade - He has an agile, fast, flourishing style, designed to overwhelm his opponent instead of overpowering them. He vastly prefers one on one combat to larger scale battles, as it gives him more room to fight. His strength in offense is offset by his lack of defensive skill, however.
Acrobatics - An invaluable skill for hiding or trying to escape.
Lockpicking - He's picked up a mild talent over the years.
Stealth - Self taught, as he has a habit of going places where he's not exactly welcome.
Unarmored - He detests wearing even the lightest armor, as he's of the opinion it only slows him down. Is it not said, "Lightly armored, light on your feet?"
Cooking - Has something of a natural talent, although he's no gourmet.
Disguise - He is an adept of the art of espionage.
Appearance - Quite tall for a Breton, with mid length brown hair and honest looking blue eyes. He has a handsome, relatively boy-ish face, with a gold earring on his right ear.
Apparel - A red silk shirt, tight black pants and leather boots.
Weapons - Cutlass, a dagger (in his right boot)
Misc equipment - A low quality lockpicking kit.
Biography - Out of a (somewhat narcissistic) desire to be seen as mysterious, Varian refuses to divulge his birthplace. At different times he's claimed to be from Summerset, Stros M'kai, the son of a pirate, and a lost prince from Aldmeris (when he was quite drunk). He began adventuring across Cyrodiil when he was sixteen, often get involved in criminal matters, and trying his best to live as comfortably as possible for adventurer, often masquerading as someone of great importance at minor noble courts. Ultimately, of course, it never ended well.
When he was nineteen, he spent a few months in Bruma. He refuses to divulge exactly what happened there, but by the time he left the city he was wanted for murder; even among close friends, he remains tight lipped about the incident, although he seems to show genuine remorse for his actions.
After that day, he traveled Tamriel, mostly sticking to southern Cyrodiil and northern Elsweyr, usually going under fake names to avoid someone from Bruma recognizing him. It's been long enough that it's unlikely anyone remembers who he is, but he still worries.
Personality - Varian has, admittedly, a somewhat over inflated ego, and a strong desire for others to not know anything about him. He considers himself a dashing swashbuckler, something which many a romantic virgin or friendly merchant has chosen to believe completely over the years; those that are wiser often see him for what he is: a con-man and a swindler.
He's also quite a charmer, something which he constantly uses to his advantage.
Despite all of this, he's far from a monster; he dreads to see any injustice (at least, when it's not caused by him) and often finds himself believing his own lies about chivalry and heroism. He is relatively selfless to those he thinks deserve it, and often finds himself on the opposite side of the stronger side when his conscience speaks up.
While he is completely capable of being cautious when the situation requires it, he has a passion for recklessness, and absolutely loves the thrill of risk taking.
Name - Varian Aurelia
Race - Breton
Gender - Male
Age - 27
Height: 6"0'
Birthsign: The Thief
Skills:
Blade - He has an agile, fast, flourishing style, designed to overwhelm his opponent instead of overpowering them. He vastly prefers one on one combat to larger scale battles, as it gives him more room to fight. His strength in offense is offset by his lack of defensive skill, however.
Acrobatics - An invaluable skill for hiding or trying to escape.
Lockpicking - He's picked up a mild talent over the years.
Stealth - Self taught, as he has a habit of going places where he's not exactly welcome.
Unarmored - He detests wearing even the lightest armor, as he's of the opinion it only slows him down. Is it not said, "Lightly armored, light on your feet?"
Cooking - Has something of a natural talent, although he's no gourmet.
Disguise - He is an adept of the art of espionage.
Appearance - Quite tall for a Breton, with mid length brown hair and honest looking blue eyes. He has a handsome, relatively boy-ish face, with a gold earring on his right ear.
Apparel - A red silk shirt, tight black pants and leather boots.
Weapons - Cutlass, a dagger (in his right boot)
Misc equipment - A low quality lockpicking kit.
Biography - Out of a (somewhat narcissistic) desire to be seen as mysterious, Varian refuses to divulge his birthplace. At different times he's claimed to be from Summerset, Stros M'kai, the son of a pirate, and a lost prince from Aldmeris (when he was quite drunk). He began adventuring across Cyrodiil when he was sixteen, often get involved in criminal matters, and trying his best to live as comfortably as possible for adventurer, often masquerading as someone of great importance at minor noble courts. Ultimately, of course, it never ended well.
When he was nineteen, he spent a few months in Bruma. He refuses to divulge exactly what happened there, but by the time he left the city he was wanted for murder; even among close friends, he remains tight lipped about the incident, although he seems to show genuine remorse for his actions.
After that day, he traveled Tamriel, mostly sticking to southern Cyrodiil and northern Elsweyr, usually going under fake names to avoid someone from Bruma recognizing him. It's been long enough that it's unlikely anyone remembers who he is, but he still worries.
Personality - Varian has, admittedly, a somewhat over inflated ego, and a strong desire for others to not know anything about him. He considers himself a dashing swashbuckler, something which many a romantic virgin or friendly merchant has chosen to believe completely over the years; those that are wiser often see him for what he is: a con-man and a swindler.
He's also quite a charmer, something which he constantly uses to his advantage.
Despite all of this, he's far from a monster; he dreads to see any injustice (at least, when it's not caused by him) and often finds himself believing his own lies about chivalry and heroism. He is relatively selfless to those he thinks deserve it, and often finds himself on the opposite side of the stronger side when his conscience speaks up.
While he is completely capable of being cautious when the situation requires it, he has a passion for recklessness, and absolutely loves the thrill of risk taking.
Person from Anticlere
Emeline -(Breton)
Spoiler
Name: Emeline
Age: 24
Race: Breton
Gender: Female
Height: 5'6
Birthsign: The Ritual. Ironically enough, the particular alignment she was born under makes her somewhat unsettling to the undead.
Appearance: As with most of her 'profession' (if it may be called such), Emeline is not the spitting image of healthiness. Pale and scrawny, she rather looks the part of someone who doesn't spend much time out and about in the sun - although, to be fair, her complexion is partially something she was born with. The fact that she moves with a sort of abrupt suddenness and has been known to be somewhat twitchy at times does her no favours when trying to appear your regular everyday normal citizen.
The 'you really ought to get out more' theme continues where her face - framed by a scraggly mess of mid-length dark brown hair - is concerned, with black under-eyes in particular that are the result of a sleep pattern that could charitably be described as irregular (and uncharitably as non-existent). In sharp contrast, however, the dark brown eyes that are thusly marked are quite lively indeed, the only sign that something ticks beneath that exterior, and ticks quite fiercely judging from their perpetual vibrant gleam. The build of her face is fairly gaunt, possessed of rather pronounced cheekbones that have been the most obvious sign of Mer blood in her family for years, a small nose and thin lips.
Class: Necromancer.
Skills / Spells: What Emeline does best is usually not spoken of in polite company, seeing as it involves rather too many things that sound deeply unpleasant, such as 'removal of all traces of flesh' and 'preservation of any intact internal organs for future rituals'. Away from the butchery that she fondly calls 'workspace' and on the field, she can briefly animate fallen foes (or allies, for which reason she doesn't have many), as well as defend herself with a mixture of (rather fragile) illusions to confound her enemies for a brief space of time and purely offensive destruction spells that, while somewhat powerful, quickly leave her burdened with the weariness a soldier might experience after a long period of intense fighting.
Clothing / Armour: The young necromancer's choice of clothes is not that glamorous and rather simple. As most mages, she favours wearing robes - having noted the value of being able to conceal various items in their folds a long time ago - and as such can now be found dressed in a worn one of faded black, slightly too large for one of her build. Underneath, Emeline wears a simple white(ish) blouse, brown pants, which are a bit baggy, and travel-worn leather boots reaching nearly to the knee.
Weapon(s): None to speak of.
Miscellaneous items: Alongside the rather more mundane possessions of a small canteen of water and a bag with several slices of dried beef and some bread, Emeline wears an outlandish looking steel rune for a pendant, hanging from a thin iron chain. The rune looks simple enough at first glance, but when stared at for a longer amount of time, its curves often start to seem more sinister, as though imbued with a strange, looming malice.
Personality: The unpleasant experiences of the past few years have left Emeline cautious and distrustful. These emotions, however, are hidden beneath a somewhat cheerful exterior that she struggles to maintain for her own mental well-being - as well as the fact that acting like you expect to be spied on is the surest way to cause yourself to be spied on. Her worries do sometimes get the best of her, particularly in the company of clergymen - or their armed and zealous enforcers, who make her uneasy for understandable reasons. Apart from the cheery guise, the one trace that remains of her old self is the unyielding academic gusto, ignorant statements about the arcane being a surefire way to breathe life (and irritation) into her.
Major flaw: It's best not to ask her to engage someone in physical combat, or she'll go 'splat' with disconcerting haste. It's also best not to ask her to enter a church of the Divines - doing so causes her no small amounts of pain, particularly if it's a temple to Arkay.
Background: One cold and crisp morning, a wizard wandering the grounds of the College of Winterhold was treated to an unusual sight - a warm bundle containing a baby, left on the College's doorstep with only a hastily scribbled note that her name was Emeline. Thus did the College gain a new student, for, as she grew, the child displayed an instinctive grasp of magic that Bretons often possessed - one that was nurtured and guided along a desirable path.
For her first nineteen years, Emeline's life was the College. It was here that she learned to talk, read and write; here that she made her first friends and first fell in love, had her first kiss and her first potent fireball. She hardly ever ventured outside, except with her tutors when the classes called for it, and saw no need to do otherwise. All there was out there was snow, ice... and a cave.
Often, she had wondered whether her life would have some great turning point. When she imagined such a thing, she certainly did not expect it to take place in a cave - and certainly not as horribly as it did.
What started out innocently enough - just a bunch of students from the College gathering outside its grounds to look at some or other tome they were cautioned against using, purely for laughs - did not end all that well. Contacting Vaermina - or perhaps only a lesser Daedric power speaking in her name - with only a fraction of the prerequisite knowledge, they succumbed to endless nightmares one by one. And when Emeline's turn came, she did something she's not proud of - she was scared; she made a deal.
One hundred souls she had to condemn to the Quagmire, and she would be free from the punishment for her trespass. And if she failed, she'd suffer that same fate herself, her own soul trapped in Oblivion.
Since then, necromancy - which was but an academic curiosity at one point - has become Emeline's lifeline. Whether she needs it to prolong her own life to infinity and spare herself the endless nightmare of Vaermina's realm, or to find those other souls that would take her place, she does not know; the search for that answer has taken her far and wide, seeing as she could not stay in the College either way. Whether becoming restless and worried after staying in a single place for longer of her own accord, or hounded by would-be adventurers looking to make a quick coin or paladins who wished to rid the world of her 'evil', Emeline has been making her way south, arriving finally to the gates of the city of Skingrad.
Name: Emeline
Age: 24
Race: Breton
Gender: Female
Height: 5'6
Birthsign: The Ritual. Ironically enough, the particular alignment she was born under makes her somewhat unsettling to the undead.
Appearance: As with most of her 'profession' (if it may be called such), Emeline is not the spitting image of healthiness. Pale and scrawny, she rather looks the part of someone who doesn't spend much time out and about in the sun - although, to be fair, her complexion is partially something she was born with. The fact that she moves with a sort of abrupt suddenness and has been known to be somewhat twitchy at times does her no favours when trying to appear your regular everyday normal citizen.
The 'you really ought to get out more' theme continues where her face - framed by a scraggly mess of mid-length dark brown hair - is concerned, with black under-eyes in particular that are the result of a sleep pattern that could charitably be described as irregular (and uncharitably as non-existent). In sharp contrast, however, the dark brown eyes that are thusly marked are quite lively indeed, the only sign that something ticks beneath that exterior, and ticks quite fiercely judging from their perpetual vibrant gleam. The build of her face is fairly gaunt, possessed of rather pronounced cheekbones that have been the most obvious sign of Mer blood in her family for years, a small nose and thin lips.
Class: Necromancer.
Skills / Spells: What Emeline does best is usually not spoken of in polite company, seeing as it involves rather too many things that sound deeply unpleasant, such as 'removal of all traces of flesh' and 'preservation of any intact internal organs for future rituals'. Away from the butchery that she fondly calls 'workspace' and on the field, she can briefly animate fallen foes (or allies, for which reason she doesn't have many), as well as defend herself with a mixture of (rather fragile) illusions to confound her enemies for a brief space of time and purely offensive destruction spells that, while somewhat powerful, quickly leave her burdened with the weariness a soldier might experience after a long period of intense fighting.
Clothing / Armour: The young necromancer's choice of clothes is not that glamorous and rather simple. As most mages, she favours wearing robes - having noted the value of being able to conceal various items in their folds a long time ago - and as such can now be found dressed in a worn one of faded black, slightly too large for one of her build. Underneath, Emeline wears a simple white(ish) blouse, brown pants, which are a bit baggy, and travel-worn leather boots reaching nearly to the knee.
Weapon(s): None to speak of.
Miscellaneous items: Alongside the rather more mundane possessions of a small canteen of water and a bag with several slices of dried beef and some bread, Emeline wears an outlandish looking steel rune for a pendant, hanging from a thin iron chain. The rune looks simple enough at first glance, but when stared at for a longer amount of time, its curves often start to seem more sinister, as though imbued with a strange, looming malice.
Personality: The unpleasant experiences of the past few years have left Emeline cautious and distrustful. These emotions, however, are hidden beneath a somewhat cheerful exterior that she struggles to maintain for her own mental well-being - as well as the fact that acting like you expect to be spied on is the surest way to cause yourself to be spied on. Her worries do sometimes get the best of her, particularly in the company of clergymen - or their armed and zealous enforcers, who make her uneasy for understandable reasons. Apart from the cheery guise, the one trace that remains of her old self is the unyielding academic gusto, ignorant statements about the arcane being a surefire way to breathe life (and irritation) into her.
Major flaw: It's best not to ask her to engage someone in physical combat, or she'll go 'splat' with disconcerting haste. It's also best not to ask her to enter a church of the Divines - doing so causes her no small amounts of pain, particularly if it's a temple to Arkay.
Background: One cold and crisp morning, a wizard wandering the grounds of the College of Winterhold was treated to an unusual sight - a warm bundle containing a baby, left on the College's doorstep with only a hastily scribbled note that her name was Emeline. Thus did the College gain a new student, for, as she grew, the child displayed an instinctive grasp of magic that Bretons often possessed - one that was nurtured and guided along a desirable path.
For her first nineteen years, Emeline's life was the College. It was here that she learned to talk, read and write; here that she made her first friends and first fell in love, had her first kiss and her first potent fireball. She hardly ever ventured outside, except with her tutors when the classes called for it, and saw no need to do otherwise. All there was out there was snow, ice... and a cave.
Often, she had wondered whether her life would have some great turning point. When she imagined such a thing, she certainly did not expect it to take place in a cave - and certainly not as horribly as it did.
What started out innocently enough - just a bunch of students from the College gathering outside its grounds to look at some or other tome they were cautioned against using, purely for laughs - did not end all that well. Contacting Vaermina - or perhaps only a lesser Daedric power speaking in her name - with only a fraction of the prerequisite knowledge, they succumbed to endless nightmares one by one. And when Emeline's turn came, she did something she's not proud of - she was scared; she made a deal.
One hundred souls she had to condemn to the Quagmire, and she would be free from the punishment for her trespass. And if she failed, she'd suffer that same fate herself, her own soul trapped in Oblivion.
Since then, necromancy - which was but an academic curiosity at one point - has become Emeline's lifeline. Whether she needs it to prolong her own life to infinity and spare herself the endless nightmare of Vaermina's realm, or to find those other souls that would take her place, she does not know; the search for that answer has taken her far and wide, seeing as she could not stay in the College either way. Whether becoming restless and worried after staying in a single place for longer of her own accord, or hounded by would-be adventurers looking to make a quick coin or paladins who wished to rid the world of her 'evil', Emeline has been making her way south, arriving finally to the gates of the city of Skingrad.
PolishGamer
Cato Varinius -(Imperial)
Spoiler
Name: Cato Varinius
Age: 32
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5’10
Birthsign: The Lover
Appearance: Cato’s appearance ranges from being well put-together to being completely disheveled at any given time. The Imperial is a good looking man, although not remarkably so. His long hair is light brown in color, and he typically wears it in a loose ponytail, although it often ends up looking ragged and wild. He tries to keep himself clean-shaven, but after periods of inspiration he ends up with a rough looking brown beard. His eyes are the piercing gray color of a storm cloud, and his gaze is either intense or unfocused, depending on his thoughts at the time.
He possesses an average build, with an abundance of neither muscle nor fat, but just enough of each. When he was the presence of mind to actually compose himself, Cato is always dressed sharply, as the man possesses a great sense of fashion. However when he is wrapped up in a story idea, he barely realizes what he is wearing.
Class: Bard
Skills / spells: First and foremost, Cato’s skills lie in writing. He is most skilled and passionate about writing, and as such that is how he makes his living. However he is also good with words, and his Speech is superior even among his own race. Cato has basic knowledge in the handling of a blade, and could defend himself if need be, especially when used in conjunction with a shield. The writer hasn’t paid much attention to any other particular field, although he has some knowledge in the Illusion school of magic, with the ability to cast a basic Calm spell.
Clothing /Armor: Cato wears a black and burgundy outfit, and plans to purchase armor, including a shield, in Skingrad.
Weapon(s): A hand-crafted, custom made, fine steel longsword.
Miscellaneous items: Cato keeps a quill, a couple inkwells, and several sheets of parchment on him at all times.
Personality: Cato is a man of great passion. When he sets a goal, he zealously follows through on it, refusing to give up. This mentality has allowed him to do well in his writing, although in this case it may have very well put his life in danger. Educated and well-spoken, his intelligence is highly evident in his speech. He does not put on airs or condescend, but he has a habit of using large words when smaller, simpler ones would have sufficed. He is courteous and kind to everyone, until they give him reason to be otherwise. Cato has quite the temper, although it takes a grievous personal affront to set it off. Witty and charming, he’s a very likable fellow, although he takes to getting wrapped up in telling long-winded stories.
Major flaw: When he gets on a train of thought, Cato often zones out and disappears into his own head. While in this state he barely pays attention to anything going on around him, making it very easy to catch him unawares. In the best case, he merely misses something someone says to him, but in the worst case he would easily miss someone attacking him.
Background: Cato was born and raised in the Imperial City, and had a very standard, middle-class upbringing. The young Imperial took to his letters at an early age, and it was soon revealed that Cato had a particular talent with writing. He wrote about all kinds of things, but his favorite was always adventure stories. Taken by the tales of warriors and mages and thieves alike, Cato started writing his own adventure stories from an early age.
At first, his adventure writing bore no fruit, and Cato used his writing talents to gain employment as an Imperial scribe, writing out public announcements and penning notes for important people in the Empire. However the Imperial continued writing on the side, continually improving on his manuscript. Eventually, Cato got his work published. “The Adventures of the Azure Alliance” soon became very popular around the Empire, and Cato Varinius was recognized as one of the premier writers of the age.
Varinius went on to write several more works, including “The Bloodworks,” an enticing piece about the inner workings of the Imperial Arena. The writer enjoyed his rise in social position, living in a high class apartment in the City, and enjoying the fruits of his labor. However, Cato soon found himself lacking inspiration. Despite his best efforts, he had difficulty latching onto a story idea, and spent several months battling writers block inside his apartment. Refusing to put out a story he wasn’t entirely proud of, Cato found his funds running dangerously low.
In the end, Cato made a decision. He sold his posh living space, purchased a custom-made fine steel longsword, pocketed the rest, and set out on his own adventure. The writer felt that by going out and experiencing the danger and excitement associated with an adventure, he would be better equipped to write about one. The first stop on his journey is Skingrad, where he intends to purchase a good set of armor.
Name: Cato Varinius
Age: 32
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5’10
Birthsign: The Lover
Appearance: Cato’s appearance ranges from being well put-together to being completely disheveled at any given time. The Imperial is a good looking man, although not remarkably so. His long hair is light brown in color, and he typically wears it in a loose ponytail, although it often ends up looking ragged and wild. He tries to keep himself clean-shaven, but after periods of inspiration he ends up with a rough looking brown beard. His eyes are the piercing gray color of a storm cloud, and his gaze is either intense or unfocused, depending on his thoughts at the time.
He possesses an average build, with an abundance of neither muscle nor fat, but just enough of each. When he was the presence of mind to actually compose himself, Cato is always dressed sharply, as the man possesses a great sense of fashion. However when he is wrapped up in a story idea, he barely realizes what he is wearing.
Class: Bard
Skills / spells: First and foremost, Cato’s skills lie in writing. He is most skilled and passionate about writing, and as such that is how he makes his living. However he is also good with words, and his Speech is superior even among his own race. Cato has basic knowledge in the handling of a blade, and could defend himself if need be, especially when used in conjunction with a shield. The writer hasn’t paid much attention to any other particular field, although he has some knowledge in the Illusion school of magic, with the ability to cast a basic Calm spell.
Clothing /Armor: Cato wears a black and burgundy outfit, and plans to purchase armor, including a shield, in Skingrad.
Weapon(s): A hand-crafted, custom made, fine steel longsword.
Miscellaneous items: Cato keeps a quill, a couple inkwells, and several sheets of parchment on him at all times.
Personality: Cato is a man of great passion. When he sets a goal, he zealously follows through on it, refusing to give up. This mentality has allowed him to do well in his writing, although in this case it may have very well put his life in danger. Educated and well-spoken, his intelligence is highly evident in his speech. He does not put on airs or condescend, but he has a habit of using large words when smaller, simpler ones would have sufficed. He is courteous and kind to everyone, until they give him reason to be otherwise. Cato has quite the temper, although it takes a grievous personal affront to set it off. Witty and charming, he’s a very likable fellow, although he takes to getting wrapped up in telling long-winded stories.
Major flaw: When he gets on a train of thought, Cato often zones out and disappears into his own head. While in this state he barely pays attention to anything going on around him, making it very easy to catch him unawares. In the best case, he merely misses something someone says to him, but in the worst case he would easily miss someone attacking him.
Background: Cato was born and raised in the Imperial City, and had a very standard, middle-class upbringing. The young Imperial took to his letters at an early age, and it was soon revealed that Cato had a particular talent with writing. He wrote about all kinds of things, but his favorite was always adventure stories. Taken by the tales of warriors and mages and thieves alike, Cato started writing his own adventure stories from an early age.
At first, his adventure writing bore no fruit, and Cato used his writing talents to gain employment as an Imperial scribe, writing out public announcements and penning notes for important people in the Empire. However the Imperial continued writing on the side, continually improving on his manuscript. Eventually, Cato got his work published. “The Adventures of the Azure Alliance” soon became very popular around the Empire, and Cato Varinius was recognized as one of the premier writers of the age.
Varinius went on to write several more works, including “The Bloodworks,” an enticing piece about the inner workings of the Imperial Arena. The writer enjoyed his rise in social position, living in a high class apartment in the City, and enjoying the fruits of his labor. However, Cato soon found himself lacking inspiration. Despite his best efforts, he had difficulty latching onto a story idea, and spent several months battling writers block inside his apartment. Refusing to put out a story he wasn’t entirely proud of, Cato found his funds running dangerously low.
In the end, Cato made a decision. He sold his posh living space, purchased a custom-made fine steel longsword, pocketed the rest, and set out on his own adventure. The writer felt that by going out and experiencing the danger and excitement associated with an adventure, he would be better equipped to write about one. The first stop on his journey is Skingrad, where he intends to purchase a good set of armor.
xHawksx
Hector -(Imperial)
Spoiler
Name: Hector
Age: 22
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 6” 3’
Birthsign: Warrior
Appearance: Hector has a muscular athletic build due to his intensive training to prepare him to join the Imperial Legion. He has brown hair with medium length on top and much shorter on the sides. His face is shaved and his skin is soft and smooth.
Skills / spells: Hector is proficient with a spear and shield and can hold his own with a short sword but still is years away from mastery of his fighting skills. One thing he excels at is his conditioning.
Clothing / (armor): An iron chest plate with leather pants, boots and gloves with a brown long sleeve undershirt. Iron shield.
Weapon(s): Iron spear and Iron short sword
miscellaneous items: Hector carries a satchel that holds a small amount of rations and a few septims.
Personality: Has a strong sense of honor and justice and strives to remain professional.
Major flaw: Looks down on those who don’t have his idea of honor or duty.
Background: Born to into a military family where his father was in the Legion and served as a Knight of the Imperial Dragon. From a young age Hector has aspired to rise to the same position as his father. Due to the passing of his father Hector was forced to stay home to care for his sickening mother instead of leaving to join the legion when he came of age. Hector’s mother has recently passed and now with nothing left to hold him back he goes now to join the legion.
Name: Hector
Age: 22
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 6” 3’
Birthsign: Warrior
Appearance: Hector has a muscular athletic build due to his intensive training to prepare him to join the Imperial Legion. He has brown hair with medium length on top and much shorter on the sides. His face is shaved and his skin is soft and smooth.
Skills / spells: Hector is proficient with a spear and shield and can hold his own with a short sword but still is years away from mastery of his fighting skills. One thing he excels at is his conditioning.
Clothing / (armor): An iron chest plate with leather pants, boots and gloves with a brown long sleeve undershirt. Iron shield.
Weapon(s): Iron spear and Iron short sword
miscellaneous items: Hector carries a satchel that holds a small amount of rations and a few septims.
Personality: Has a strong sense of honor and justice and strives to remain professional.
Major flaw: Looks down on those who don’t have his idea of honor or duty.
Background: Born to into a military family where his father was in the Legion and served as a Knight of the Imperial Dragon. From a young age Hector has aspired to rise to the same position as his father. Due to the passing of his father Hector was forced to stay home to care for his sickening mother instead of leaving to join the legion when he came of age. Hector’s mother has recently passed and now with nothing left to hold him back he goes now to join the legion.
Trannigan
Sun-Scale (native name is Han-Za) -(Argonian)
Spoiler
Name: Sun-Scale to humans, Han-Za to other Argonians that would care.
Age: 35
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7
Birthsign: The Steed
Appearance: He is average height when compared to other Argonians.His weight is under the line of 'Normal' for any of the races though, due to the poor Argonian having to merely scavenge for his meals. Another strong area that he differs from those of his race are his scale color. His scales are a bright yellow color, like that of a lemon. His "hair style" is off-white spikes along the back of his head, and solid white feathers growing out around the spikes.
Class: Hobo I guess lol. For now anyways.
Skills / spells: For now he is only good with his rusted up iron knife. He also knows one weak Burden spell in the Alteration school and a weak healing spell for if he gets injured by something. He is also decent at sneaking but never was brave enough to see how he was at pickpocketing.
Clothing: Hustmans vest, sack Cloth pants, and Sandals.
Weapon(s): For now only a low quality Iron knife that he managed to steal from a drunkard once.
Miscellaneous items: A small collection of Peony Seeds.
Personality: His mental status is hard for non-Argonians to know. He is a quiet person but by no means is he unfriendly to others though he is usually distrustful at first. He doesn't yet have any real friends in the city, since he is a citizen of the lowest class in arguably the wealthiest city in Cyrodiil. He is pretty crafty too considering the life he has had to live. He's managed to make quite a few 'marks' leave some food behind for him to make a meal of in the past. He is also a timid person. He has never outright stolen from anyone the way a bandit would, and never wanted to. Taking the life of another humanoid is something he has never ever considered doing, even if it meant a meal and coin to spend.
Major flaw: None as of yet, but depending on how things play out he might develop a bit of a chronic hero syndrome.
Background: Han-Za came to Cyrodiil when he was but a teenager, with the idea of becoming a great and well respected hunter for one of the cities. Sadly his plans did not pan out though, after getting within sight of Skingrad, the young Argonian was swindled out of all of his belongings by a sneaky Khajiit. The Khajiit made his way back into the West Weald wilderness and as Han-Za tried to report what had happened to the local guards they either didn't sympathize enough to go out looking for the con artist or just outright didn't believe the 'yellow scale' The Argonian never was able to get his justice, and over the years no matter how much he tried he could never really afford to scrap out better than a beggars life for himself. It seemed he just did not have what it takes to change his fate the gods placed upon him.
Name: Sun-Scale to humans, Han-Za to other Argonians that would care.
Age: 35
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7
Birthsign: The Steed
Appearance: He is average height when compared to other Argonians.His weight is under the line of 'Normal' for any of the races though, due to the poor Argonian having to merely scavenge for his meals. Another strong area that he differs from those of his race are his scale color. His scales are a bright yellow color, like that of a lemon. His "hair style" is off-white spikes along the back of his head, and solid white feathers growing out around the spikes.
Class: Hobo I guess lol. For now anyways.
Skills / spells: For now he is only good with his rusted up iron knife. He also knows one weak Burden spell in the Alteration school and a weak healing spell for if he gets injured by something. He is also decent at sneaking but never was brave enough to see how he was at pickpocketing.
Clothing: Hustmans vest, sack Cloth pants, and Sandals.
Weapon(s): For now only a low quality Iron knife that he managed to steal from a drunkard once.
Miscellaneous items: A small collection of Peony Seeds.
Personality: His mental status is hard for non-Argonians to know. He is a quiet person but by no means is he unfriendly to others though he is usually distrustful at first. He doesn't yet have any real friends in the city, since he is a citizen of the lowest class in arguably the wealthiest city in Cyrodiil. He is pretty crafty too considering the life he has had to live. He's managed to make quite a few 'marks' leave some food behind for him to make a meal of in the past. He is also a timid person. He has never outright stolen from anyone the way a bandit would, and never wanted to. Taking the life of another humanoid is something he has never ever considered doing, even if it meant a meal and coin to spend.
Major flaw: None as of yet, but depending on how things play out he might develop a bit of a chronic hero syndrome.
Background: Han-Za came to Cyrodiil when he was but a teenager, with the idea of becoming a great and well respected hunter for one of the cities. Sadly his plans did not pan out though, after getting within sight of Skingrad, the young Argonian was swindled out of all of his belongings by a sneaky Khajiit. The Khajiit made his way back into the West Weald wilderness and as Han-Za tried to report what had happened to the local guards they either didn't sympathize enough to go out looking for the con artist or just outright didn't believe the 'yellow scale' The Argonian never was able to get his justice, and over the years no matter how much he tried he could never really afford to scrap out better than a beggars life for himself. It seemed he just did not have what it takes to change his fate the gods placed upon him.
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Chapter 1, the Role-Playing Thread: http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1385217-the-aimless-wanderers-chapter-i/
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If not, I'll have him walk down into the inn by himself in a couple of hours sleep. 
"
